Play Ball
by Sunshinecackle
Summary: Part Two of the Play With Me Series. Filmore just wanted to share everything with Firkle, including his football years.


**Title:** Play Ball  
 **Author:** Daisy  
 **Fandom:** South Park  
 **Setting:** Filmore Anderson's Backyard  
 **Pairing:** Filmore Anderson/Firkle  
 **Characters:** Filmore Anderson, Firkle, Quaid, Michael  
 **Genre:** Romance/Humor  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Chapters:** 1/1  
 **Word Count:** 1927  
 **Type of Work:** One-shot, Part of the Play With Me Series  
 **Status:** Complete  
 **Warnings:** Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Established Relationship, Innuendo, Headcanons Employed, Unbeta'd  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.  
 **Summary:** Filmore just wanted to share everything with Firkle, including his football years.

 **AN:** Hey, everyone! It's my birthday, today, so this is probably all that's going to be written. xD I don't think I have much more personal time. Anyway, this fic is for Filmoreandersonx on Tumblr, my good friend. ; u; I promised I'd have it done yesterday but some stuff happened. X.x Hope you enjoy!

 **Play Ball** ****

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"Come on, babe, it's not that hard. I can do it." Filmore chuckled to himself, tossing the football from one hand to the other, standing about ten feet from his loving boyfriend. The goth didn't look very impressed with his explanation, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight to one leg. Standing there in his black turtleneck, black jeans and too-large boots, he looked like a small stormcloud against the backdrop of the bright, sunny summer day.

"Yes, but you and I both know that you have no fear of balls raining from the sky. The only kind of balls I like are the ones I can fit in my mouth." They both knew what he meant, and Filmore's red cheeks showed it. Still, he readied himself to throw, form perfect, one leg back and arm poised, and Firkle's first instinct was to flinch.

"I'm not going to hit you." The jock cooed sweetly.

"You're going to hit me because I can't catch." The goth replied with a cautious frown.

"Just try for me? Please?" The pout that got Filmore out of more trouble than he knew slipped onto his face and that was the end of it.

"Okay, fine, but if you hit me in the face, I'm going to make you sleep by yourself." Firkle responded finally, sighing with defeat. Trying to get into a position to catch the football, he couldn't deny he was embarrassed when his lover barked a genuine, enthusiastic laugh.

"I am definitely going to hit you in the face if you hunker down like that. Here," Jogging over and showing off his muscles beneath the barely-there t-shirt he'd cut most of the side out of, the jock set the ball at their feet. Gently moving his hands over the other's body, he turned his light caresses into easy angling, until he had Firkle positioned just right. "There. Now, I'm going to throw it, and you're going to catch it perfectly because you don't do anything in any way that isn't totally flawless." He winked, and Firkle's eyes shone with adoration and acceptance.

"Alright. Like I said, don't hit me in the face."

"I won't." He promised, patting the ball Firkle hardly remembered watching him pick up again before getting into his best throwing stance. With that, he let it rip and the goth found himself trying his best not to flinch. Years of gym class where he'd been the target of rogue balls of all types left him fearful, even if he trusted his lover thoroughly. Sure, they had had their differences, there was that Month Of Swirlies bullshit from middle school… But Filmore had really grown since they had started this thing they had. He'd even told Quaid to fuck off when he'd been less than enthused to hear of their relationship.

Still, a few months of trust did nothing to keep the goth from ducking and giving the world's most Un-Goth Yelp ever as it finally hit the downward spiral that would lead it to his waiting arms. Instead, it bounced off of his ass as he cowered in the elder teen's backyard. Filmore's laugh was soft, this time, and he jogged right back over, picking Firkle up with his arms around his waist. Holding the slighter male against his chest in an almost crushing hug, he nuzzled his back gently.

"I told you I wouldn't hit you in the face, didn't I?" He chuckled, kissing the other's spine.

"You hit me in the ass, though!" But there was a laugh on Firkle's lips, regardless.

"I wouldn't have if you would have tried to catch it." He offered, grinning as the little goth began to wiggle in his arms.

"Put me down, you meathead." There was no bite to his words, and he yelped as the other fell back onto his ass, taking him down with him. Pinning Firkle down to the grass on his back, he nestled his face in the other's neck.

"Look, babe. I know you've had a lot of people that hurt you. Especially in gym, with footballs and-"

"Quaid threw a medicine ball at my face once. It's why my nose is a little off kilter." Filmore made sure to press a gentle kiss into the bridge of it.

"Your nose is beautiful. _You're_ beautiful." And he'd say it a thousand times, in a million languages, until Firkle believed it just as much as he did. As much as all of his Instagram followers did. They had been pushing for Firkle to join in on videos and photos and things, and the goth just didn't think he had a good side for the camera. It didn't stop Filmore from making his favorite picture of them, the first one they took together, all snuggled up on his bed, as his lock screen on his phone.

"And _you_ are known for false complements to get something you want out of someone." Firkle's smile didn't falter, and he leaned in to nuzzle their noses together. Kissing him softly, the goth sighed, rather happy when his lipstick stuck and they both were smeared purple. "So, what do you want?"

"All of your love is enough for me," Answered the jock, before tapping his lip for a second like he was thinking, "Though if you didn't chicken out when I threw a football for you, that would be a close second."

"I didn't chicken out!" Though he knew he had, the goth wasn't ready to admit to it. The look he earned was enough to have him looking away, decently shamed, "Okay, okay. I totally pussed out. If I try and catch it, now, will you stop pouting at me? Seriously, that look could make a tiger leave you alone."

"I always thought of myself as the tiger, not the prey." Baring down and wiggling his ass playfully like a cat would, Filmore pretended to pounce on his lover, biting his bare shoulder gently and making him moan. Oh, he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. And it was working, too.

"So you're going to eat me?" Squeaked the goth, writhing after those teeth only tightened on his flesh and his entire body seized after the grip grew vice-like. The choked moan that left him was enough to have Filmore giving an answering groan, and he knew suddenly that this was going in a bad direction to be so public.

"I could." He whispered, kissing the other's ear, then the teeth marks he'd left behind, "But you have a ball to catch. I'll tackle you and protect the sack once you've caught it. 'Kay?"

"Uh… Y-yeah, okay. You should have scrambled my brains _after_ I caught the damn thing." While he tried to sound grumpy, Firkle sounded more like he was pouting.

"Maybe with your brains scrambled, you won't be so afraid." Getting into a pushup position and then lifting off to a standing position, Filmore winked and ran to the ball, picking it up. "Come on, babe, I promise you I'll toss it gently."

Pushing up onto his hands, he brought his feet in slowly before finally getting them under him, he jumped a couple times and shook his head out. Trying to remember how Filmore had positioned him the first time, Firkle closed his eyes for a second, imagining the other's hands on him, opening his eyes again when he was ready.

"Throw it." This time, instead of his All Star Throw, Filmore gave the football a gentle pass that landed against Firkle's chest. He gasped as his arms instinctively shot up to grab it, and with wide-eyed wonder, he stared at the ball in his embrace. Excited, he looked up at the other with a blooming smile on his face, leaping for joy and throwing the ball down, watching it bounce off down the slight slope of the yard they were in.

"And there he is, Firkle Ablah, number one, winning it for the Cows! And the crowd goes wild!" Filmore laughed, jogging over and picking the smaller male up around his waist again, facing him this time. Spinning them, he made loud hissing noises to imitate the crowd, .kissing the other's stomach and up his chest a little bit.

"Oh my Gods, Filmore Fucking Anderson put me down!" If Filmore made him laugh one more time today, Firkle was going to kill him. Maybe with love, however, before he cupped the other's cheeks and leaned down, kissing him a la The Notebook's DVD cover, minus the rain.

"I'm starting to think you actually believe my middle name is 'Fucking'." Filmore mumbled against the other's lips, kissing him back softly and nuzzling their noses together slowly.

"Maybe it is. I sure call you it enough." Firkle muttered, kissing the other's cheek and rocking forward, pushing the other over towards the grass again.

"Hey!" But that was all he got out before Firkle continued to kiss him. Tongues slipped wet and hot against one another, and the pair stayed like that for far too long. Possessively biting at Filmore's lips, the goth made sure that his mouth would be very obviously claimed, much like his shoulder. Soon, their kisses turned to soft chuckles and giggles, hands wandering beneath the shade of the large tree in the back yard. Firkle eventually rolled off of his lover, snuggling up against him.

"I'm never doing this sports thing again. You should have taken a video." He informed, only half-joking.

"Who says I didn't? I've been streaming this whole thing, even if the angle might have messed up. My phone fell over."

"You _what_?" Shooting up, Firkle glared immediately at the other's phone, frowning, "You ass, you didn't even-"

Another kiss distracted him, and Filmore brought him into his lap, petting over his sides.

"Shh, it's okay, babe. Everyone wanted to see you. See us. I just wanted to prove that I'm with _you_ , not Quaid. Since I only take pictures with him, they started to wonder."

"You are _so_ lucky that your lips taste good and I love you." That hadn't been what he'd thought he was going to say. He had yet to say that out loud, and here he was, saying it for the internet to enjoy. "I mean- I-"

"You already said it, babycakes." Filmore cooed, kissing his cheek gently, nuzzling him, "I love you, too." He added, quickly, seeing the distress in the slightly younger male's eyes. This didn't, admittedly, help his fear, at least, not visually.

"Quaid's going to kill me, and Michael's going to kill you." He whispered softly into the other's ear, pressing their cheeks together.

"Let me think about them. You just relax in the knowledge that you're mine, and I'll protect you." It was a comforting thought, but Michael wasn't going to be an easy, open-and-shut case.

"Alright." He mumbled, kissing at Filmore's cheek. "So, can we go back inside? I'm going to be on fire if I stay in all this sunshine much longer."

"I guess so." Filmore pouted again, and Firkle wasn't having it, leaning in and kissing him on the mouth.

"You mean 'yes, Firkle, let's go inside before you turn into a permanent tomato', don't you?"

"Of course, babe."

Picking the smaller male up, he swung him over his shoulder and made sure to grab his phone and turn off the stream before carting the other up to his room to reward him for all he'd done this morning.

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 **AN:** This was supposed to be a lot shorter. xD But who cares? I'm rather proud of this! I hope you guys like it. Happy Birthday to me!


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